


Flight Sickness

by LivewirePrime



Series: A Technopathic Techie and his Terageese [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fulcrum's reformat was a half-assed disaster and he's not handling it well, M/M, Medical Trauma, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Misfire is here to help, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, after he makes things worse, but really it's not his fault
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:01:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22503685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivewirePrime/pseuds/LivewirePrime
Summary: Misfire had heard of phantom limb syndrome before, but he had no concept of just how far that could go. And then there was the flight sickness. In hindsight, it had been almost painfully obvious.
Relationships: Fulcrum/Misfire (Transformers)
Series: A Technopathic Techie and his Terageese [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1566136
Comments: 8
Kudos: 46





	Flight Sickness

The door to their shared, makeshift habsuite slid open, and Fulcrum entered with a heaping armful of supplies. It had been roughly two decacycles since they had adopted the K-classer, and Misfire was beginning to pick up on his habits. Such as how Fulcrum entered the door sideways just now. The gesture was a familiar one to Misfire, as he himself entered doors that way, but something about Fulcrum doing it seemed off somehow. He couldn't quite pinpoint the reason why.

"Hey Loser, why do you walk through doors like that?" Misfire blurted before thinking, making Fulcrum nearly jump out of his plating in surprise, dropping a few of the things he had carried in with him. "Jumpy today, are we?"

"Misfire! Don't scare me like that!"

"Geez, Loser, all I did was ask a question. So, what's your answer?"

Fulcrum shifted anxiously. "I uh.. sorry, could you repeat the question?"

"Yeah, why do you enter doors _like that?"_

Fulcrum tilted his head and frowned in confusion. "... like what?" 

"Like, you know, all sideways and stuff."

Fulcrum's optics widened owlishly. "O-oh. I did that?"

Misfire squinted at Fulcrum. _Is it just me or does his orange face seem paler than usual?_ "Mhm, you did."

Fulcrum frowned, and his kibble sagged awkwardly, as if trying to express something like dejection, although in all honesty Misfire wasn't _terribly_ sure but still _reasonably_ sure it was dejection - well, if it was dejection, Fulcrum's kibble was not quite able to achieve the right positioning. The gesture was again familiar to Misfire, but grievously off somehow. _Something is missing, here._

With dim optics, Fulcrum muttered, "...Old habit, I guess. Listen, I don't want to talk about it." Fulcrum turned then, continuing his original path to the small workbench he had made for himself and taking a seat on the plain stool, apparently having forgotten about the materials he fumbled in his earlier surprise. The items left scattered on the floor puzzled Misfire.

Though Misfire hadn't known Fulcrum for very long, it struck him as wrong that Fulcrum would be _that_ forgetful and/or negligent. Between Fulcrum's complaints about the cleanliness of their habsuite, the normally immaculate state of his work station, and his insistence to reorganize things on the ship, extending even to rewiring electronics so the cables were less chaotic, Misfire got the impression that right now, Fulcrum's haphazard disorganization was a sign that something was seriously wrong. 

He peered over at Fulcrum's workstation with concern. _Wow, he really just dumped all those supplies into one big pile? Slag, he's not even trying to sort any of it! He usually does that right away!_ His gaze drifted back to the abandoned supplies on the ground. _He probably needs those._ Misfire folded the comic book he had been reading - an earth media called "Peanuts" - closed, and tucked it away in his subspace before getting up and picking up the forgotten items on the floor. He approached Fulcrum from behind and slightly to the side with the intending of tapping Fulcrum on the shoulder, but Fulcrum suddenly flinched away from him as soon as he had so much as raised his arm, dipping his near shoulder down unnecessarily before swiveling it back and away from Misfire, the odd action bringing an annoyed Fulcrum face to face with him. Misfire chewed the inside of his lip in trepidation. _Did he think I was going to hit him or something?_

"What?" Fulcrum clipped.

"You dropped these…" Misfire frowned as he held out the handful of fumbled goods.

Fulcrum's stiff posture softened just a tad. "Thank you," Fulcrum muttered as he accepted the offered items. 

However, Misfire's frown deepened as Fulcrum'e hands shook so badly that he nearly dropped at least one of the items all over again.

 _Shaky hands? That's never a good sign. Is he anxious about something? I mean, anxiety and paranoia seem pretty normal for him but this is on a whole other level. Like from wireworms to razorsnakes! Is it low fuel? Has he had enough energon? I mean, our supply is low, sure, but we shouldn't be at risk of starving just yet. Unless Fulcrum has been starving himself?_ He shuddered, decidedly unhappy with that possibility. "Hey Loser, when was the last time you fueled?"

"Three or four day cycles ago? I'm not sure," Fulcrum mumbled while depositing the supplies on top of the disorganized pile of other parts. 

"Pinhead, you know you're allowed a ration every cycle, right?"

"I'm not hungry," he clipped out, his agitation beginning to rise once more.

"Fulcrum, you need to fuel," Misfire asserted in a stern tone that surprised even himself.

Fulcrum's back plating rippled in displeasure, and Misfire winced at the slight but telltale groan of warping metal coming from his upper chassis. "Don't tell me what to do!" Fulcrum snapped.

Misfire frowned, and pushed a note of apology towards Fulcrum through his field as he attempted to place a comforting hand on the other mech's shoulder. The action was once again thwarted as Fulcrum flinched away like before, his field spiking out in something akin to panic, and Misfire felt bad for causing that reaction again. His wings drooped and twitched behind him in upset. "Sorry, I just-"

"Get out," Fulcrum interrupted harshly. Golden optics, terrifyingly intense and devoid of their normal warmth, sharpened instead with something sickly and crazed. They seemed to bore holes through him.

Misfire briefly considered bringing up the fact that it was his room too and that he didn't have to leave if he didn't want to, but something in Fulcrum's tone held a metaphorical vice grip over his spark and instead of saying anything, he found himself exiting the room, casting one last concerned glance over his shoulder. He grimaced as he saw the warped and strained plating between Fulcrum's shoulders, the bending of plating still audible even as he distanced himself. Misfire's wings involuntarily twitched and he shivered in discomfort at the thought of his own plating being in a similar state.

 _Spinister, I need to get to Spinister. Fulcrum isn't okay and even if I barely know him - yeah, I really do barely know him, don't I? Or do I? I probably know him better than the other Scavs do, but that's just because we're roommates. Roommates don't always get along much. Hmmm… my roommates in the past have always been somewhere in between acquaintance and friend… except with the Scavengers? I mean, that probably just has more to do with being a family of sorts than anything else. Flywheels and I used to share a room. I think we were far closer to the "friends" side of the roommate scale, but only because we'd stay up WAAAAAY too late talking about mythology and paranormal stuff! He was tidy, too, but definitely not as uptight about it as Fulcrum. Wait._ **_Fulcrum_ ** _. I need to find Spinister!_

He looked around, and when he realized he had been walking in a random direction, he frowned. _Why didn't I just use my comm? That would have been much faster…_

**::Hey Spin, I need your help with something.::**

There was a beat of silence that felt way longer than it probably was, before his comm crackled to life with a reply. **::Did you get your spike stuck in another makeshift sleeve?::**

**::What? No! It's Fulcrum, he's-::**

**::So you got it stuck in Fulcrum this time?::**

**::No!!! We're not like that!::** Misfire's plating burned with embarrassment, wings twitching in distress, and he was glad that nobody was around to see either. _I mean, Fulcrum is pretty cute but nothing's going to happen between us! He is WAY too different, and with how much he detests my mess, there's NO WAY he likes me! And trying to take his fuel pump probably made a horrible first impression!_

**::Then what's the issue?::**

Misfire worried his lip. **::Listen, it's kinda hard to explain but it's like he's going insane. I don't know what's going on, but he's irritable, disorganized, hasn't been fueling, and is practically warping his own back plating to slag.::**

There was an annoyed sigh and some incoherent grumbling from the other end of the line. Misfire could have sworn he heard the word _shanix_ in there somewhere _._ **::Where did you see him last?::**

**::Our habsuite. I got kicked out, so he's probably locked himself away in there.::**

Misfire expected to receive some quip from Spinister about getting kicked out, but all he got was the serious, short reply of **::I'm on my way,::** and for some reason, that terrified him. 

He started on his own way back to the habsuite, and as he got closer he heard loud crashing and shouting. 

**_"Fulcrum, open the door or so help me Primus I'll break it down!"_ **Spinister bellowed angrily.

 _"FRAG OFF."_ There was a loud bang as something seemingly heavy was slammed up against the other side of the door.

**_"Fine! Be that way! But we're here to fragging help, you moron!"_ **

_"And there's NOTHING you can DO to FIX this, so leave me to deal with this_ **_ALONE_ ** _!"_ Fulcrum sounded equal parts enraged and hysterical, and there was another crash as yet another heavy object collided with the door.

 **_"You're destroying yourself, you moron!"_ **Spinister wound up a punch and let it fly, but to everyone's surprise, the door opened on its own. Spinister's optics widened and Fulcrum shrieked as the helicopter's momentum had him falling across the barricade of junk, which included at least one berth. Spinister regained his composure in an instant and roared as he violently clambered over the pile, shoving obstacles out of his way as he went.

Misfire, wide-opticked, slowly approached the door to get a better view. He watched in a horrified daze as Spinister chased Fulcrum around the completely trashed room while Fulcrum backpedaled in utter panic, picking up whatever junk he could and throwing it at the snarling medic, the two of them shouting at each other all the while. Fulcrum's efforts were futile, though, and soon enough, Spinister seized one of Fulcrum's arms and twisted. Even if the action caused no obvious damage, Fulcrum looked to be in pain. Maybe it was pain from his back? Misfire winced as Fulcrum cried out and instantly crumpled to the floor when Spinister landed a precise jab at his already damaged backplates. Yep definitely his back.

Fulcrum was swiftly pinned down, but much to at least Misfire's horror, Fulcrum seemed to snap even further than he already had. His optics cycled wide, becoming unfocused and wild as he thrashed violently underneath Spinister. Though large and very strong, Spinister seemed to have a difficult time keeping Fulcrum pinned.

 _"Don't kill me! Please, I'm more valuable to you alive than dead!"_ Fulcrum's unfocused optics began bleeding coolant as he continued to thrash.

 **_"We're not going to kill you, moron!"_ ** Spinister snapped his attention to Misfire. **_"Stop gawking and help me hold down his arm! I need to access his medical port!"_ **

Misfire blinked as the words took a moment to register, and then his awareness came crashing back into reality. Within a nanoklik he was by their side, firmly holding down one of Fulcrum's arms with both of his hands. 

Spinister braced an elbow into Fulcrum's back in order to free up a hand, but the action ripped a horrifying, primal scream from Fulcrum that continued far longer than it probably should have, and which slowly distorted into a terrible electronic screech as his vocalizer started frying itself. Seemingly unbothered, Spinister reached over his now freed up hand, and gently flicked open the cover for Fulcrum's medical port. Spinister's cable swiftly made a connection, and at first, it seemed like nothing was happening, but then all at once, Fulcrum fell completely limp. His electronic screeching continued, though it began to devolve into despondent sobbing, and Misfire couldn't decide which sound he liked less. Somewhere in his spark, though, he realized he never wanted to hear either ever again. 

"This has got to be one of the worst cases of flight sickness I've ever seen," Spinister announced. "It's a wonder he managed to keep his helm about him for as long as he did."

Misfire's attention was so scrambled by Fulcrum's tormented state that he only barely registered what Spinister said, and even then it didn't really click. _Flight sickness?_ "But he's not a flight frame?"

"K-Classers weren't always bombs, Misfire. And by the looks of it, almost no effort was put into processor reformatting. He's still got all of his flight frame programming." 

Spinister carefully removed his weight from Fulcrum's frame, revealing the extent of the damage Fulcrum had caused to himself. Though it fortunately wasn't serious, it was still horrifying to behold. The plating across his back was twisted up in four jagged, dangerously sharp ridges, almost like miniature mountain ranges, that traversed multiple plates without regard for Fulcrum's current transformation seams, forming a narrow - _or is it tall? -_ diamond of sorts without any of the corners connected, centered around the circular plate directly behind his spark. The upper two lines would have been partially hidden by the rounded bombshell kibble fixed around Fulcrum's upper back, if it were not for Fulcrum's totally limp state, as a result of Spinister temporarily blocking his motor commands. This meant that said bombshell plating fell forward, lax, revealing the damage clearly.

Fulcrum's sobbing had died down considerably, though his optics were still out of focus and freely bleeding coolant as Spinister continued scanning through his systems

The new information that Fulcrum used to be a flight frame sunk in slowly for Misfire, and suddenly a lot of things began to make more sense. Fulcrum entered doors sideways because he used to have wings that would prevent normal entry. His kibble gesturing was awkward because the wing commands didn't translate well to the bombshell controls. He recharged on his front more often than not, and always preferred seats with minimal or no backs at all. He reactively flinched away from Misfire at a considerable distance, because, had he had wings, Misfire would have come into contact with them. Fulcrum had ducked his shoulder down and around so strangely because that action would have effectively disengaged his wings from possible contact. 

All of a sudden, Misfire found himself grinning from audial to audial in elation. _It all makes sense! Yes! He's a flight frame like me! We're not so different after all!_

Yet, if his elation had ascended like a rocket, then it plummeted like a bomb as the horrible, depressing little voice of reason, the one he usually ignored, spoke up again. _But he's_ **_not_ ** _like me. He_ **_doesn't_ ** _have wings, even if he still acts like he does, as if he can still feel them and control them like he used to_. _But they're_ **_gone_** _._

Misfire had heard of phantom limb syndrome before, but he had no concept of just how far that could go. That Fulcrum had screamed as if his wings were being shredded apart - which they very well could have been at one point, he morbidly realized - was proof enough of how realistic the phantom pains could be. Misfire couldn't even begin to wrap his processor around how excruciating that would be, and he wasn't sure he ever wanted to be able to.

And then there was the flight sickness. He hadn't seen it before - he hadn't known to look for it - but in hindsight, it had been almost painfully obvious. Though Misfire had never gone _fragging ballistic_ during his own experiences with the affliction, the symptoms were all more or less the same; the irritability, the twitchiness, the _restlessness,_ the loss of appetite… the shaking. 

The need to be in flight, to feel the wind against your plating, to be revelling in the freedom of the open air… and if that's not possible, the maddening need to seek out any and all distractions to avoid thinking about how you can't indulge in that glorious, blissful freedom. And if _that's_ not possible? Pray to Primus that you don't develop a processor glitch or worse. 

Fulcrum had run out of distractions, Misfire realized. The ship was cleaner than Misfire had ever seen it, even since he was a prisoner on board with Crankcase escorting him to jail. But even back then, the ship wasn't a picture of spotlessness. Fulcrum had run out of things things to clean and organize and just things to do in general on the ship, and had resorted to trying to make things out of random, mostly useless scrap. What he had witnessed today was Fulcrum trying and failing to distract his processor away from the euphoric freedom he craved. _And that freedom is something Fulcrum can't ever truly experience anymore. Not unless he gets a reformat, and that's not really in the cards for us right now. For the foreseeable future, the only freedom he'll have in the skies is that of freefall._

 _If I were in his pedes, I don't know if I'd be terrified of even looking at the sky for fear of death or insanity, or if I'd be looking forward to fatally acquainting my frame with the ground… Maybe both? Maybe I'd feel the latter, and be terrified that I think that way, and then avoid all windows and ledges out of the fear that I'd act on that desire? Or maybe I'd just be super duper depressed?_ Misfire cast a sorrowful look at Fulcrum. 

Misfire wasn't exactly sure what to do in this situation. What was acceptable? He wanted to reach out and stroke his plating gently, soothingly, but he wasn't sure if that would make Fulcrum's condition better or worse. He settled for smoothing out and expanding his field over Fulcrum, and by extension, Spinister. He hoped the mad medic wouldn't mind.

"Good thinking," Spinister rumbled as he continued reshaping the ugly, slightly greyed mini mountain ranges where Fulcrum's wings used to be. 

Misfire took an image capture, committing the four morbid lines to memory, tucking it with unexpected care into the steadily growing folder dedicated to just Fulcrum things. If Fulcrum ever consented to a backrub, which Misfire suspected he'd be needing in the future, it helped to know where his wings would have been. Maybe it was wrong of Misfire to store such an unsettling photo, but frankly, if there was anything he could do to not see Fulcrum in this much self-destructive pain again, he would do it. No flier deserved this torment, least of all a mech in his family - _because the Scavengers ARE a family_ \- even if he's only been in it for two decacycles. 

"What sort of flight frame has four wings?" Misfire suddenly wondered aloud.

Spinister was quiet for a moment as he further analyzed the code pouring through his diagnostic programs, before answering, "propeller craft. Stunt class biplane. The curious thing is that he also has seeker coding. Not all that surprising - a mere biplane would be a poor addition to the Decepticon army.”

Misfire’s optics widened owlishly. “So you’re saying that he’s had not one, but _two_ reformats?”

“Yes, though this seeker coding seems to be mostly from a patch meant to make adjustments from propellers to thrusters, and account for wing differences.” And then he added, in a thoughtful tone, “it seems he kept his four wing configuration, at the very least.”

“A seeker with four wings??” Misfire tried to picture it, but found he had a hard time doing so. He frowned. “It’s a shame we won’t be able to see it, at least not anytime soon,” he lamented.

“Actually, I have an idea about that,” Spinister mused.

Misfire tried not to appear too hopeful. He probably failed. “You do?”

“I do.” Spinister finished hammering out the ridges of torn metal, and switched out a portable welder. “We trade in some favors to have Brainstorm reformat him. He might not be a doctor, but I am, and with his help as a scientific genius, I’d bet that together we could pull it off.”

“What if…” Misfire grimaced. Does he really want to say it?

“Spit it out already.”

“What if Brainstorm doesn’t agree to help?” Misfire relented.

“Then Fulcrum’s lifespan is going to be a pit of a lot shorter than it should be. Even if we find some activities for him that can alleviate the flight sickness, it will only be delaying the inevitable.”

“Wow, way to be blunt…” Misfire groused. 

“No use in making bad news any better to swallow. It’s still bad news, no matter how much mercury you coat it with.”

“Then we have to get Brainstorm to agree,” Misfire decided. 

“I agree. It would be a shame to see another member of our family extinguish so soon in such a brief period of time.”

“Should we make it a surprise for Fulcrum?” Misfire wondered aloud. 

Spinister finished welding the plating shut, and thought for a bit. “Normally I’m against surprises, but this would be a good surprise, so I don’t see the harm in it. The question is, will you be able to keep your intake shut about it?”

“Me?! Of course I- okay well maybe I don’t have the greatest track record… But I can do it just this once!” Misfire exclaimed defensively.

“Sure. I’ll bet 50 shanix that you can’t, though. Now, help me carry him to the medbay.”

“I- hey! Fine, whatever, place your bets, but I’ll prove you wrong!” Despite his outburst, he did in fact help Spinister carry Fulcrum to the tiny med-bay of the WAP.


End file.
